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Maddock and Bones sat huddled in a corner booth of The Farmer’s Daughter. The home-style cooking and atmosphere was well targeted at its small-town customer base. They’d hardly touched their daily special, meatloaf sandwiches and beer-battered green beans, which seemed to distress the perky brunette waitress. Both men reassured her everything was perfectly acceptable, and to keep the coffee coming.
While Bones read the journal depicting the dig beneath the Hilltop Barn, carefully turning the pages, and leaving torn bits of napkin as bookmarks, Maddock scoured the internet with his cell phone, trying to discover all he could about Clark Clabberson, Esquire. The business card handed over by Johnny Harshbinner, identifying his lawyer, bore that name, as well as a stylized depiction of a golden trident. The emblem had immediately raised suspicion.
Trident was a secret organization with members embedded at all levels of both government and law enforcement. Maddock and Bones had survived several run-ins with the group. Its interests focused on securing ancient relics and associated technology.
“Not much out there,” Maddock said to Bones. “He’s got a website with basic information on his practice. Deals mainly in real-estate. Law degree from Boston University and a certified CPA. Has one part-time secretary.” Maddock set down his phone and took a sip of coffee. “Only odd thing is Clabberson’s practice is located in Cleveland.”
“Cleveland,” Bones said. “Why would Johnny get a lawyer from Cleveland? That must be two or three hours away.”
“Probably not a family friend, or someone with close ties to the area,” Maddock said. “Or Mrs. Harshbinner would’ve mentioned that, instead of calling Johnny’s attorney ‘his fancy lawyer.’”
Before Maddock could respond, his cell phone vibrated, signaling he’d received a text message. “Pari,” he said, reading the text. “She says that her cousin, Johnny, was upset with her great-aunt because she had the locks changed.”
He read the next two texts that arrived. “Aunt Ruth has spoken to Rick at the hardware store. He’ll give us a set of keys to the house. Wants us to videotape what’s beneath the Hilltop Barn. Her great-aunt has a camcorder kept in a cabinet next to the TV.”
“Trident.” Bones tapped his finger on the table. “If they’re involved, they’d tap the nursing home’s phones.”
Maddock finished his friend’s thought, knowing Trident had the resources. “I’ll bet that’s who paid Pari a visit at the Serpent mound.”
“You think she’s in danger?”
“They’ve left her alone. Probably thought she didn’t know anything.”
“What about the old lady?”
Maddock considered the question. “If they’ve got Johnny in their pocket, they don’t need her.”
“And if we uncover this secret before they do, she’s out of the crosshairs entirely.” Bones closed the diary and slipped it into the pocket of his leather jacket. Around a bite of his cold meatloaf sandwich, he said, “Let’s finish up, hit the hardware store.” He swallowed his bite. “Pick up some lights and gear there, and get the keys.”
Maddock nodded in agreement. “We should locate Mrs. Harshbinner’s camcorder first. We’ll probably need to charge its battery.”